by Dave Edlund
Nadya stared back in silence.
Peter pushed his mug aside and leaned forward on the polished granite surface. He held that position for a long minute of silence, absorbed in thought. A dozen questions were swirling in his mind—all equally unanswerable.
“Do you have evidence of this conspiracy?” he finally asked.
She shook her head. “No. Nothing definitive. David Feldman, our Prime Minister, is a right wing nationalist. He is paranoid that Iran will acquire a nuclear weapon and destroy Israel.”
“If Israel attacks Iran, war is assured. But President Taylor may not be eager to commit American soldiers to such a conflict unless Iran is the first aggressor. Taylor supported the nuclear deal with Iran, and the lifting of sanctions.”
“The Presidential election is only a few months away. Maybe President Taylor will not win.”
The thought sent a jolt of fear through Peter. He knew that Abraham Schuman was very popular. “You think that if Schuman is the next President, he will support a pre-emptive attack from Israel on Iran?”
She crossed her arms. “It’s guaranteed, whether Schuman wins or not.”
“Why do you say that?” he said, his eyebrows pinched together.
“You know of the Israeli Security Act? A bill passed by your Congress but vetoed by President Taylor?
Peter nodded. “Congressman Schuman claims he has enough votes to override the veto.”
“Yes. And what if he does?”
He shrugged indifference. “The bill increases the level of military aid to Israel; I don’t see the connection here.”
“That bill has a provision requiring that Congress views any act of military aggression against Israel as an act against America. Don’t you see? Congress will be required to declare war.”
Peter’s jaw went slack. “So whether Schuman wins or not, war is virtually assured.”
“Once that bill is passed into law, there is nothing to prevent a pre-emptive strike against Iran, which will trigger a retaliatory attack on Israel.”
Peter’s eyes were wide as realization set in. “We have to expose this plot.”
“And who will believe us? All we have is conjecture.”
“I have the Liberty files.”
Nadya shook her head. “If those are historical files, as you’ve suggested, there won’t be anything there to connect to Schuman and Feldman.”
“Then we need proof. We need to go to the media with evidence that uncovers this conspiracy. But how?”
“Trust me,” Nadya said with a smile.
Peter cocked an eyebrow. “Really? You want me to trust you—the woman who tried to kill me a few days ago?”
“But I didn’t.”
Peter recalled her turning her weapon on her comrade and shooting him, just before he would have pulled the trigger.
“What’s your plan?”
“Simple,” she answered. “I still have my contact. He doesn’t know that I’m here, talking to you. All I have to do is place a phone call and say that I have won over your confidence, and I set you up to be captured. They want to question you, find out what you know. I think that will allow us to get close to someone very high up in the organization. Maybe the leader.”
“Who’s your contact?”
“His name is Richard Nyden. He was leading the squad that attacked you from the other side.”
Peter’s eyes widened and he shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. “The other team was either killed or captured. Only three made it out alive, and I saw them taken into custody. Your contact—Nyden? He’s either dead or in jail.”
Nadya pulled her mouth back tight. She paced in a circle, thinking. “Okay. Then I reach out to the backup. They’ll know Nyden is no longer actively engaged in this mission. My call won’t be suspicious.”
“You’re sure this will work?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“So I’m the bait?”
“Of course. There is no other way. But don’t worry; I’ll be there with you.” Her smile didn’t relieve Peter’s growing fear.
Chapter 45
Bend, Oregon
April 26
Together, Nadya and Peter had spent the previous 24 hours planning and preparing. She would place a call to her alternate contact—a person she was to speak with only if Nyden had been eliminated. She had no name for the alternate, only a number. She wasn’t even certain the number would still be active. Certainly, by now the leaders of the organization would have received news that the mission had failed.
Nadya had been well insulated from the organizers—she didn’t even know what organization had orchestrated the attacks. Information had been compartmentalized and shared strictly on a need-to-know basis.
“Ready?” Nadya asked. It was early afternoon.
Peter nodded. “Make the call.”
She dialed the alternate contact number from memory. After two rings, a person picked up. The voice was masculine. “Pizza and Pipes. May I take your order?”
“I’ll have a medium California special, no garlic.”
The line went silent for several moments as the other party identified the caller from the code phrase. The voice came back. “You have a status report?”
“Yes,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I have established contact with the package. Are you still paying a bonus for delivery alive?”
Silence again. Nadya imagined the contact was considering the risks of proceeding. “The terms of the contract still apply. How am I to trust you? Everyone was either killed or captured—but not you.”
“I’m better than the others. Maybe you should make me an offer?”
“Maybe. But first, you claim you can deliver the package alive. What do you propose?”
Nadya relayed her cover story—how she had followed Peter for a day then intentionally bumped into him on the sidewalk outside his business, striking up a casual conversation. She charmed him, and they met the next day for a coffee. That led to Peter asking her to meet him tonight for drinks.
“I’ll have assets there and a cargo van. We’ll grab him outside his residence. Make sure you keep him distracted.”
Nadya agreed and shared the address and time she was to meet Peter. Then she ended the call. Her eyes caught Peter’s. She was confident, in stark contrast to his concern and apprehension. “Relax,” she said. “Nothing to do now but wait.”
s
A few minutes after 7:00 p.m. Peter greeted Nadya at his door. He smiled warmly and invited her inside. She was dressed for the cool evening temperature, wearing a light leather jacket with fur collar. The short jacket flared in at her waist, emphasizing her shapely figure.
With the door closed, she silently handed a small note to Peter. Am being followed. They will snatch you on the sidewalk. Don’t resist.
Peter nodded and threw the paper into the garbage disposal without making any noise. He expected she was wearing a bug, and her actions so far confirmed that suspicion.
“Let me grab a jacket,” he said. Retrieving a tobacco-brown leather bomber-style jacket from the hallway, he added, “Shall we go?”
“Sure. I hope the walk isn’t too far. It’s chilly.”
Peter held the door open for Nadya. “No, not far at all. There’s a popular bar just a block away.”
They walked side-by-side down the short flight of steps onto the sidewalk. They turned right and completed another half dozen steps when a cloth bag was thrust forcefully over Peter’s head. At the same moment, a gun was pushed hard into his back. He felt the steel barrel digging into the soft muscle alongside his spine. A strong hand was clamped over his mouth. It pulled backwards. Peter tried to correct his balance but was tripped. Without sight and with the gun wedged into his back, down he went, landing hard on the concrete. Hands grasped his arms and legs, lifting him up and then heaving him into a van. Or at least he assumed that’s what it was from the sound of the side door sliding closed.
He reached for the hood and had his hand
s slapped away. A cold gun barrel was pressed against his temple. “Leave the hood on,” a gruff voice said. Then hands reached inside Peter’s jacket and frisked him, checking for a concealed weapon. They removed his phone. “Nothing, boss.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” Peter asked.
“Shut up!”
“Where’s Nadya?”
He was answered with a perverse chuckle. “Don’t worry about your girlfriend. She set all this up. Didn’t you, Nadya?”
“Just do what they say, Peter. They have some questions for you. Cooperate, and you might live to see another sunrise.”
The van drove into the night, heading east on Highway twenty toward Burns. The passengers rode in silence. Peter estimated they had traveled for about an hour when the van slowed and turned off the paved highway onto a well-kept gravel road. Potholes and ruts were absent, and the sound of gravel striking the undercarriage was unmistakable.
A few minutes later, the squeal of brakes announced their arrival. Exactly where, Peter had no idea.
The side door slid open, and Peter was yanked out. He stood with his arms firmly clasped by two strong men; a third yanked the hood off and then wanded him with a small metal detector. “Clean, boss,” he announced.
“Well, well. Look who we have here.” Peter didn’t recognize the man standing before him. “Peter Savage. Welcome! My boss has been looking forward to meeting you.”
“And who would that be?” Peter asked.
The man smiled. “I’ll let him handle the introductions.”
“What is this about?”
“Enough chatting.” He aimed his eyes at the two men holding Peter and motioned with his head. Then he pivoted and strode to the entrance to a large building.
Peter swung his head from side to side. The night sky was clear, and without any light pollution, the Milky Way was visible. Other than their footsteps crunching upon gravel, there were no other sounds. He estimated they were maybe 50 or more miles outside of Bend—most likely somewhere in the desert of Eastern Oregon as the terrain appeared relatively flat and he could not see any mountain peaks blotting out starlight.
A sign on the door read PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. The walls were constructed of concrete blocks and no windows were visible on the forward-facing exposure.
They entered, Nadya and two guards taking up the rear, and proceeded along a short hallway. Darkened rooms to either side suggested offices or meeting rooms. Near the end of the corridor, the hallway turned a corner to the right and continued a short distance to a double steel door. The doors were pushed open and they entered a dark, cavernous space. Someone flipped on switches and dozens of overhead high-intensity lights clicked on, dim at first, then growing to a brilliant intensity as they warmed up.
Several square steel posts in the central portion of the space supported roof trusses twenty feet up. Roll-up metal doors were located along opposite walls for access by large vehicles.
Peter stood there taking it in. Two M113 armored personnel carriers were parked near the large doors, the rear of each facing the entry he had just passed through. The carriers looked like steel boxes on tracks, painted in tan camouflage. Machine gun mounts were on the top of each, but the guns had been removed.
Yellow tape marked sections of the concrete floor where toolboxes and shelving stacked with parts were located. A forklift was parked off to one side, next to rows of pallets loaded with crates and stretch-wrapped in plastic. Grouped in another area were tools—a lathe, drill press, a horizontal band saw, shear and press brake, and two computer-controlled milling machines.
“Restrain Mr. Savage to one of the posts.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Ellison,” one of the guards replied. Peter was shoved forward and spun around, his back slammed against the post. With a pistol pointed at his chest, a second guard pulled Peter’s hands behind his back and around the post and slipped a FlexiCuff around his wrists, pulling the restraint tight.
“What is this place?” Nadya asked.
“Maintenance shop,” Ellison said. “United Armaments owns 10,000 acres of land out here. It’s surrounded on three sides by BLM land. Ain’t nothin’ but sagebrush and jackrabbits for 50 miles in any direction.”
“When will I get paid?” she asked. “I’ll want proof of the wire transfer to my account.”
“Right to business. Okay. When my boss gets here, and is satisfied that you delivered the package, you’ll get your money.”
“When will that be?”
“You ask a lot of questions. Well, maybe you can answer some questions too.”
“Like what? You have Savage. I delivered on my end of the bargain.” Nadya was getting a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She’d learned to trust the feeling—like a sixth sense—it had helped her to stay alive through too many close calls in Gaza, Syria, and Iran. She casually walked to the side, away from the center of the group of men.
Ellison tracked her movement. “We’ll come back to the package later. Right now, perhaps you can explain to me how my entire team was either killed or captured in the forest. Richard Nyden was very experienced and a capable operator. He’s been in my employ for many years and has never failed.”
Nadya continued edging to the side. “I lost my team, too: four Mossad agents.”
“That’s right, you did. And how is that?”
“You sent us in ill prepared,” Nadya said. She surreptitiously shifted a hand behind her back. “We should have been better prepared.”
Ellison snorted a mocking laugh. “Five Mossad agents plus nine of my Guardians—against one man.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Nadya. “A civilian!”
He paused and regained his composure. “How is it that you—and you alone—managed to slip away?”
“Like I told you before—I’m good at what I do.” She felt the grip of her Glock. With her thumb, she flicked off the leather strap holding the weapon securely in its holster.
Ellison snapped his fingers and six guns were suddenly pointing at Nadya. “You’re not that good. Raise your hands, slowly.”
Reluctantly, she did as ordered, her eyes darting to Peter and then back to Ellison. “What are you doing?” she demanded, continuing to play her role. “We had a deal!”
One of the guards approached and felt behind her back. He roughly snatched the Glock and then ran a hand over her pockets until he found her cell phone, taking that, too.
“Did you really think me so stupid that I’d believe your silly story about how you tricked Peter Savage into asking you out?” He started to laugh. “To be truthful, I’ve never heard such a corny story. Seriously? You bump into a stranger and a day later he asks you on a date?”
Nadya stared back, hers eyes burning with defiance.
Ellison continued, “I think we know how you escaped from the mountain. You and Mr. Savage, you made a deal, didn’t you?”
The ruse was up, and Nadya saw nothing to gain by debating. She remained silent, focusing instead on how to escape.
“Mr. Savage?” Ellison called.
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“My men tell me that you offered almost no resistance when they grabbed you outside your home. Perhaps you were expecting to be captured?”
“Oh, sure. You’d be surprised how often someone stuffs a bag over my head and throws me in a van. The novelty has kinda worn off.”
Ellison motioned with his chin and a guard slammed a first into Peter’s abdomen. He slid down the pole, doubled over as far as the restraints would allow. He coughed and gagged, trying to suck in air.
With a wave of his hand, Ellison said, “Tie her to the post with her boyfriend.”
At the point of a gun Nadya was ushered to the post, and her hands were tied behind her back with a FlexiCuff. The super tough nylon was virtually indestructible, and struggling against the bond was only going to shred her wrists.
“We had a deal!” she shouted as Ellison and his men ambled to the door.
�
�Kennor, you stay here at the door. No one enters. Understood?”
The man named Kennor nodded and stepped through the doorframe, standing to the side. The rest of the men filed through, with Ellison taking up the rear. He stopped and turned back to his captives. “In 90 minutes Mr. Duss will arrive. Then we will all have a nice chat.”
The door closed, followed by a click as the lock was engaged.
Chapter 46
UA Test Range, Eastern Oregon
April 26
Ellison was confident—too confident. With Peter and Nadya restrained to the steel post, all they had to do was wait for Claude Duss to arrive on the corporate jet, a Gulfstream G650. The flight from San Jose—a hub for corporate jets for the biggest Silicon Valley corporations—to the test range in Eastern Oregon would be a little more than an hour.
As soon as Ellison received the phone call that Peter had been bagged, he placed the call to his boss. While Peter was being ferried in the van to the desert test range, Duss was riding in the back seat of a limousine, headed for the airport. UA maintained a staff of pilots 24/7, and the G650 was always fueled and ready for flight.
Now, with an hour and a half to kill, Ellison and his mercenaries settled in the rec room, engaged in small talk and big plans of what they would each do with the bonus they expected from Mr. Duss. Not only were they delivering Peter Savage—alive, no less—but also the suspected traitor Nadya Wheeler.
Several minutes passed in silence after Ellison and his men left the maintenance bay. Finally, Peter was satisfied that no one was returning immediately. Having caught his breath and standing again, he addressed Nadya. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”
Nadya sighed. She preferred to save her breath for something important to say.
“I have a plan,” Peter said. “Do you have a knife?”
Nadya rolled her eyes, but since they were back to back, Peter couldn’t see her expression. “No! I don’t have a knife. And they took my gun and my phone. Any more ideas?”
“Okay. Plan B. Slide down the pole and reach into the top of my right boot. There’s a Boker folding blade there.”
“But how… They ran a metal detector over you. How did they miss it?”